Witch's Bell Book One

nodded heavily. 'The fire escape is just around the back, and the key is on this key chain behind me.'
    She sucked down a deep breath.
    'You know,' he said as he motioned her around the counter and handed her the key, 'you are a good person, Ebony. When good people have bad days, it's criminal,' he handed her another helping of Turkish Delight. 'And you know the police, they chase criminals.'
    She laughed again, blowing the icing off the top of the sweet she'd just been handed with the puffs of her giggles.
    'This, I think, is what has happened in your case,' he nodded sagely at her.
    'You mean that if I start having a good day, they'll stop chasing me?'
    He shrugged. 'You know the police, they are like cats; they chase anything that runs. All you need is for them to chase something else.'
    She smiled through a sniff. 'Yes, I really do.'
    'But anyhow, no more chatting. Time for you to start evading the law. And me, I'll go out and give you a distraction.'
    'No, I couldn't ask you to do that. I really don't want you to get involved. Please, don't do anything dumb for my sake,' Ebony fixed him with the most genuine, steady gaze she could muster. It was true; she really, really didn't want to drag anyone else into this mess.
    Mohammad shrugged again. 'I'm not going to go at them wielding a knife – not that kind of distraction. I'm just going to ask those friendly officers why they haven't been able to find those kids that keep painting graffiti on my store,' he sniffed. 'They can't even spell – it's annoying.'
    Ebony bit into her lips, but smiled nonetheless. 'I really don't want you to get in trouble.'
    'I won't. Now go – go!'
    'Thank you, Mohammad,'' Ebony nodded at him then turned and ran out the back of the store.
    All the shops along this side of the street had fire-escapes that went up to their roofs. They were all old buildings, and the fire-escapes were hardly safety regulation – hence the ability to lock them. No, the shop owners either used them as a means to clean their back windows, or in order to access the roof. All these shops were built in a certain era, and all had these sloping, interconnected roofs. Sometimes, though rarely, Ebony would drag a chair up onto the nook between the roofing iron of Harry's, and catch the sun. She had a door, see, an internal door that led up to the roof. It was such an odd feature of the building. But from the mezzanine level, you could take a second winding staircase up to this little nook that was barely two meters squared, and that afforded a brilliant view of more roofs.
    It was just the kind of feature the old Harry would have specifically built into his shop – simply because it made no sense. It was kooky, eccentric, and highly unlikely ever to be used, unless you needed archers – or, well, another route in. And Ebony needed the latter, though she fancied the former would be useful at laying down cover fire too.
    Her plan was to get to the top of Mohammad's roof, somehow lay low, and make it across the practically joined roofs until she reached her own. Then she'd plead with Harry to open the door, run down stairs, and... blow raspberries at the officers outside. Or, at least, come up with a better plan once she was actually there.
    Ebony quickly, but quietly, took to the fire-escape. There were wizards outside her store, after all, and wizards were clever blighters. They had to deal with their fair share of magical insanity, so knew that you always kept an eye out for the strange. And Ebony Bell crouching along the rooftop would be just the strange they were after.
    So she took each step carefully, ensuring that her heels practically kissed the metal grate with their gentleness. The last thing she wanted to do was make a grand old clanging and banging, and draw every cop, wizard, and neighborhood dog, her way. She gripped the metal railing, then re-gripped it as she moved along slowly. By the time she finally reached the little ledge that led up to the roof, she was so tense from the care of it all, that she was ready to just run berserker-style across the roofs, screaming like a wild banshee at the football.
    But she contained herself, and quietly hefted herself onto the roof. Though the metal did groan and grate a little at her sudden weight – it wasn't the equivalent of a cymbal crash in the orchestra. It would be nothing above the general hum of city life.
    For the next part Ebony finally twigged, and took off her damn heels. It was a pity to let